


Something in the air

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/M, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 09:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl
Summary: This was written in 2012 for the DW kinkmeme, prompt "____ makes them do it: Sex pollen, psychic wolves, staying undercover for a case--for some reason they do it, and possibly they don't think the other one wants it till they're well on their way."





	Something in the air

There's something in the air.

Annie's not sure what--it's not aftershave, or cologne, or cigarette smoke--not sickly sweet and not sharp and not overwhelming all those other scents... but there all the same. It's not the day's meal cooking in the cantina. She looks around the room, mid afternoon, half the men out on the streets for one reason or another. She's wondering if anyone's noticed, but everyone seems focused on their work. Gene's in his office as evidenced by the occasional hacking cough, the creak of a chair. Sam's in the Collator's Den, been there all day, even through lunch, which she brought him. He'd given her a quick smile.

That's perfectly normal. Everything is.

Except the way she feels.

The thing, it's not a smell but a feeling. It's tingling all over her body. She gets up from her desk, suddenly needing to move, walks down the hall to the loo. Splashes water in her face, though she's not hot, and stares into her own reflection. Her pupils are huge. She stares in fascination until a wave of physical awareness washes over her, as if her whole body just got turned on. It's only then that she realizes she's aroused.

And holy mother of god, she's aroused. Her knickers are damp--no, they're wet, she's throbbing. This--she knows right away, this is not natural. She's never felt like this at work. She clenches her hands on the edge of the sink to avoid touching herself. She wants to run back to Sam's desk, haul him to the loo--no, really she wants to strip him right there and mount him. Right on his desk. And if Gene were to come out of his office and see them at it, fucking like rabbits...

Her eyes close and she moans. She'd be embarassed if she weren't so turned on by the thought, by imiagining being watched by him. He'd lean back and watch them at it, and Sam would try to stop but she wouldn't let him... She's grinding against the edge of the sink, sending jabs of pleasure through her belly like stabs of electricity.

The door bangs.

She turns, breathless and red in the face.

It's Gene. Standing in the door to the women's loo like he's lost his mind, and he's breathing like he just ran the hundred-meter dash, sweat pouring down his face and staining his shirt in huge patches.

"Bloody hell," he says.

She's still completely clothed, but she has a shocking moment of anger at his invasion of her privacy, a knee-jerk response. But that anger is swamped, muffled by how much his invasion turns her on, makes her even hornier than before. And thing is, she can tell he's experiencing that same feeling.

"Yeah," she gasps after a moment. "You too?"

He looks down for a second, which seems oddly shy until she notices the tented fabric of the front of his trousers.

She's across the room and grabbing his tie before another second passes. They bump teeth as their faces mash together; it's the least sexy kiss she can remember, but she wants it so badly she doesn't care. She's scrabbling with his belt, with his zip, and he's fumbling behind himself to lock the door and then picking her up around her arse and carrying her across the room to slam up against the sinks. She wrestles away from him long enough to rip his trousers open and push them down, and at the same time he's struggling to do something with her skirt--hike it up or get it off. In the confusion of dealing with their clothing somehow she ends up behind him, looking past his shoulder at his face in the mirror. Lord, it almost makes her convulse with pleasure on the spot, the way he's all wanton and sweaty and lost, eyes half closed and forehead wrinkled.

"I'm sorry," he gasps.

"For what?" she whispers.

"It's not--right."

"I don't care." She pulls him around to stare directly into his eyes, let him know that she really means it, this is her taking him as much as the opposite, and she hitches her arse up on the sink, gets her skirt up and one hand on his tie pulling him closer.

"Cartwright," he chokes, and his cock is just breaching her--she hasn't even really looked at him, just wants him in her as fast as possible. She's still pulling him in, their slick foreheads pressed together. "I never meant--"

"Guv." His eyes snap open. Green. About an inch from her own. He catches his breath. "Please just--"

"Annie."

She groans. It's like her blood is on fire, like she'll melt if she doesn't have him. The pause makes her shake, makes her wonder for a moment through all the burning if they'll be OK on the other side of this. Is Gene Hunt wiser than she? Does he have more self-control?

"I just--" he gasps. "I'm your DCI. This isn't--shouldn't be here, doing this..."

And she grabs his arse and drives him home, groaning out loud at the stretch, the satisfaction of it. Once they've started he lets go of whatever hesitation was stopping him. It's all animal rutting, her legs wrapped around him, his furious thrusts and bites on her neck, his hands powerful and sure. They're both breathing fast and desperate. Groaning, sex noises, and as it goes on and his cock rams harder into her he starts swearing under his breath.

"Bloody hell, Cartwright, made for this, so gorgeous you're like a painting..."

"Oh, Christ, Gene. Fuck me. Harder. Harder!"

It's enough. He's big enough, he's the biggest, most real thing in the room, and he's grinding her into dust, into a puddle. She crushes against him, pulling him deeperdeeperdeeper, and comes in a blacking out haze that erases everything in the room except the way he's filling her.

"My God," he wheezes, propped against her as if he'd fall. His hands still cup her arse, balanced on the edge of the sink, and she can feel stinging bruises rising across her back.

It should feel wrong. It should feel all sorts of wrong, the way it enveloped them, but it's still gloriously right as she rubs her cheek against the sweat of his neck and sighs in relief and fulfillment. She can feel him shrinking inside her, the sweat on his neck cooling.

"Are you all right?" she asks, a little worried.

He opens his mouth to answer, his brows knit, and there's a sudden pounding on the door. His eyes widen comically, and he's pulling out and tucking away, moving toward the door as she straightens her clothing.

"Hello?" Gene says, his voice rough.

"Gene!" Sam's voice, high and breathy.

Gene unlocks the door. Sam's standing there, drenched with sweat, eyes flickering back and forth between them. He's clearly, obviously aroused.

Annie swallows, then slides off the edge of the sink. "Bring him in, Gene. And lock the door again."

They turn to face her, touching already.


End file.
